Twelve months
by niewypowiedziane
Summary: Twelve months in twelve pieces: how Clint and Tony, slowly but steadily, become "Clint and Tony".
1. January

**January**

'What are you doing, Tony?' Steve asks the man one time, when he is typing something fervently on his laptop, sitted in his favorite red armchair.

'Secret,' Tony replies in his usual tone, but he sounds distracted. Clint looks between Cap and Tony and waits patiently for the next exchange, they always seem to play the same game.

'Real secret, or you're just typing random words to annoy me with the noise since you know I can hear much better than you?'

'Something _real_, Cap – okay, secret, let's make it less of a secret, might be useful in case of my sudden death anytime,' Tony rambles; Clint and Cap roll their eyes and sigh in unison, 'This, my dears, is my journal. I'm making notes about how we saved the world yesterday, for the future generations. When I die, you can access the files and publish the story of the life of Tony Stark, a genius inventor et caetera… What do you say, Cap?'

'Somehow, I am not very surprised, Tony,' Steve replies disapprovingly. 'And I'm not sure I believe you. I mean, couldn't JARVIS do that for you, like he usually does almost everything?'

'You wound me,' Tony says, sounding pained. Steve sighs again and leaves. Clint grins and tries to get behind Tony's back to see what the is typing, but Tony doesn't let him see.

Clint gets to have a peek exactly a week later and it's much sooner than he expected.

Tony is doing that again – sitting in his favorite place and typing – when he gets a call from Pepper telling him that if he won't be in some meeting in ten minutes, he is going to regret that. Her voice fills the whole mansion, transmitted via JARVIS – since Tony left his phone somewhere, most likely on purpose – and even Steve cringes at her angry tone.

'Wow, you outdid yourself this time if she is that mad, hmm?' Clint teases, but Tony doesn't even spare him a glance as he scrambles to his feet, cursing, and gestures at JARVIS to have the suit ready in his workshop – and runs out.

Steve leaves, too, declaring that he is going for a run, so Clint is left alone in the room with the book he has been reading.

And Tony's laptop.

'You're stupid if you believe –' Clint starts, murmuring to himself, moving across the room soundlessly to have a glance at the computer, '– that he would leave the file – _fuck_.'

He _did_.

Clint blinks for a good half a minute, sensing a trap; JARVIS would save and close the file otherwise, right? That's what the A.I. does: think in place of his creator.

'Well, whatever,' Clint breathes and his eyes lock on yesterday's date; there are only two sentences there.

_January 21__st__: we fought another round of those hellish bots (the whole team plus Coulson, no one injured) and I still don't have good enough intel on them; JARVIS is going to community college for that since I have the strange feeling that after five attacks every second day it won't suddenly end now, we don't even know where they come from – the signals get scrambled – and it has to happen in the middle of the negotiations that Pepper makes me attend, of course, the bad guys couldn't find a better time than a moment where I can't even spare half of the time I need to work those bots out. Plus, the reactor has been _uncooperative _ for the last few days and I need to do the exo-system upgrade in Mark VII and Clint needs a new set of the extra-strong EMP arrows, they seem to be the best against the bots and he's run out of them, and I really feel like getting a chocolate donut but I don't even have time to breathe, not to mention to eat, and I am wasting the only ten minutes of the day I have to relax on writing this, it's kind of nice with Cap here, and with Clint –_

'Wow,' Clint says, shaking his head. That's exactly like reading what Tony says: he rambles so much, but there is always some point to his speeches, even if it takes a crazy amount of patience to fish the sense out of the onslaught of words.

The arc reactor is hurting him and he hasn't said anything? That's _so_ Tony.

And Clint can't do anything because it would be like saying _hello, I read your journal-thingy._ Not a good idea.

'JARVIS?'

'Yes, Mister Barton?'

'You didn't close the file on purpose, right? You don't forget or overlook anything, ever.'

'Sir didn't give me an order to close he file. Also, it is likely to be beneficial to Sir's well-being.'

'As in?'

'As in, you are likely to take action, Mister Barton, are you not? I have analyzed your behavioral patterns. You are the person who takes initiative in 42% of situations of different range.'

'You're creepy, dude,' Clint comments, skims the text again and sighs theatrically. 'So, where is that place where I get Tony the chocolate donuts? And different donuts? Oh _boy_, I've got to buy at least thirty of them to not make it look suspicious and feed everyone in this house…'

JARVIS downloads directions to Tony's favorite bakery onto Clint's phone, records a brief message telling Steve where he has gone – the man worries about everything too much for his own good – and goes to get the donuts on foot, since it's only a fifteen minutes' walk despite the thick layer of snow.

When Tony is back, he looks cold and tired and whines in an exaggerated manner like he likes, but Clint doesn't let himself be fooled by that; he can notice now how Tony is unconsciously guarding the device in his chest.

He says nothing though, just shoves the donut box under Tony's nose, pushes a cup of hot coffee in his hand and watches a real smile forming on Tony's lips.

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**A/N:** Thank you for reading! Feedback is always welcome :)

(The parts will be ~1000 words, the word count here changes my original count a bit ;p)


	2. February

**February**

Everyone in the city is hiding and the streets are almost completely empty.

Clint doesn't get how the conference is supposed to happen, when it seems almost impossible to imagine someone using the public transportation to commute, or a car's engine start.

Possibly he is exaggerating, but not very much.

'JARVIS, temperature?'

'-4 degrees Fahrenheit, Mister Barton,' the A.I. replies promptly. '11 more than the lowest recorded temperature in New York City.'

'_Fuck_,' Clint swears, shivering inwardly. Maybe Natasha is used to extreme cold, since she spent lots of her life in a place where -4 degrees is a normal occurrence, but Clint _hates _this. He's not even sure he has appropriate clothes. 'I don't waaant to go outside,' Clint drawls loudly, staring at all the snow and shivering again. He didn't want to get out of bed either, but Natasha came in and _helped_ him with that.

It's just one of those days.

'Where is your Russian spirit?' Tony's voice asks from behind, making Clint jump. Tony laughs. 'You know that you have to get outside for approximately… two minutes? To get in the car and get out of the car?' he adds, walking up to stand next to Clint. He's wearing one of those incredibly smart and snug designer suits.

'One op in Alaska too much and you are scarred for life, man,' Clint explains, trying _not_ to think about those two weeks. Seriously. Almost the worst two weeks _ever_.

'Okay, doesn't sound too good,' Tony agrees and takes a step away from Clint, then looks at him head to toe and makes an approving face. 'You are looking smart, man. Almost like me.'

'Gee, thanks for the compliment –' Clint starts, but Tony cuts in, because that's what Tony always does.

'You'd look better in purple.'

'I will _never_ forgive Nat for telling you that story,' Clint growls, looking down at his clothes: it is the suit he always used for ops where he pretends he is a higher society boy and not a circus freak.

'Wait,' Tony tells him and disappears. That is so Tony, too. Clint just rolls his eyes.

He comes back maybe three minutes later and presents Clint a thin tie in perfectly purple color from Hawkeye's _best marksman in when world_times. And it's _glistening_.

'No, please, can't you just stop –' Clint starts again, but Tony doesn't listen, he just walks up to Clint and takes off the black tie, replacing it with the purple one, and ties it efficiently in a perfect knot. Then he takes a few steps away, cocks his head and stares at Clint for a long moment before nodding approvingly.

'You look _much _better now,' he tells Clint.

_Well_.

Maybe he should let it be, if Tony Stark himself tells him he looks great. Just this one time. And he can perfectly ignore the stupid weird feeling in his gut when Tony smiles at him like – like that.

Clint looks at Tony again, raising one eyebrow when he meets the man's gaze, then turns around to see if the weather has suddenly changed and turned into sub-tropical. Of course it hasn't, it's snowing so much that Clint has no choice but to call it a blizzard in his head, even if that word he'd rather not use. Ever.

'So, you ready? Mentally prepared?' Tony asks, still standing in the same place, with this small smirk.

'Never,' Clint replies grimly, turns around and walks out of the room. Tony follows. 'Also, why do we have to have a press conference in the Empire State Building? Aren't there any more… humane places around? With less gold? Hell, why can't he have it here in Stark Tower? You've got like a whole _floor_ of conference rooms, and I swear I saw a Ming vase in one of them, almost as good as –'

'Hell, Hawkeye,' Tony cuts in naturally. 'You _really_ don't want to go. Like, _really_.'

'Don't you ever have those days when you don't want to get out of your bed no fucking matter what? And you have to leave, for a bullshit press conference no less –'

'I don't think I actually get to be in my bed often enough to experience something like that, baby, but I could say the same about that couch in my workshop – oh. You don't know which one. You have never been there, have you?'

'You don't let anyone but Bruce and Rhodey go down there,' Clint reminds Tony as they walk into the kitchen. Clint grabs a bottle of water and drinks half of it in one go. Tony stares at him suspiciously.

'Will you be less annoyed with everything if I promised you I'd give you a tour when we come back?'

'Wow, I've been living here for half a year and now you're offering me such an honor –'

'Don't push it, cupcake,' Tony warns him, already by the coffee maker, preparing himself an espresso. They still have full ten minutes before they have to leave.

'Okay, okay,' Clint agrees tiredly. 'I'd like that. I mean, seeing your workshop. It's like an urban legend around here. But it's not going to change my attitude towards this crazy winter at all. I swear, I am going to move to central Africa at some point, you know, with no snow ever, and I will live and die in hope that the local gangs won't remember me from all the ops we've had there…'

'We should go to Malibu for a few days,' Tony says pensively and then drinks his coffee in two seconds. 'Sun. Sun, even in February.'

'Sure. Yes. Gladly. You are my favorite, Tony,' Clint sing-songs, grinning. 'We go?'

'Yup,' Tony agrees and disappears again. When he comes back, he is wearing a _fur coat_. Clint rubs his eyes in disbelief and stifles laughter. Tony is _unbelievable_. But if there's one man in the world who can pull off a fur coat looking so fucking sexy, it is Tony Stark.

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**A/N:** Thank your for all the faves and follows! I am glad you are enjoying this. Please let me know how you liked this piece :)


	3. March

**March**

Tony has a photo shoot scheduled for the May issue of GQ in which he's supposed to talk about his new life as a part of the superhero team, the newest developments of Stark Industries and a totally made up scandal that has been in all tabloids recently even though there is not even a pinch of logic in the whole story. That's fine.

He leaves in jeans and a jacket, usual casual clothes, and comes back in shiny golden shoes – sic! – a smart dark red suit, well, Iron Man colours, Clint kind of likes it, and a beautiful set of lipstick lips on his neck. That's _not_ fine.

As soon as Clint notices that, he jumps down the bookcase he was on, laying on his stomach and reading some creepy science fiction novel he found between Tony's physics books, and leaves. He starts to climb up the stairs when he hears Natasha's voice; of course she's around. Only that nobody ever really knows she is around.

'What the fuck you do think you're doing, Stark?' she hisses. Clint freezes. He is still pouting and angry, but – this might be entertaining.

'Everyone in this house knows what's going on, you dumb brat,' she continues and Clint imagines her hovering over Tony's lean figure. 'You don't need to a spy to figure it out, even Bruce who hardly ever leaves his lab knows, so that says something. And Thor who's not exactly keen on subtlety –'

'Natashenka, don't kill me please, but I have no idea what you are talking about,' Tony whines. Three steps back. Of course you can hear his steps, but you can't hear Natasha's when she follows and doesn't let him back away.

'You took him to Malibu because he said he didn't like the cold, right? You didn't ask me. or Steve, who has the most dramatic history with cold. Or Thor whose brother is a fucking Ice Giant. You know –you both came back grinning like idiots and I thought you were not toying with him, but if you are, I swear I will cut off your –'

'What do you mean?' Tony cuts his, his voice completely flat. He is confused.

Clint imagines Natasha's One Eyebrow raised and her look of disbelief trained on Tony in that gorgeous tight suit. Okay. Maybe he can forget this whole story if he will be amused enough…

'Clint _likes _you, for whatever reason, idiot.'

'Clint likes me?' Tony laughs. 'Oh well, silly me. Everybody likes me – hey, what do you mean, _likes_?' he adds, sounding a bit panicky. 'Like, likes _likes_?'

Natasha sighs so loudly that Clint can hear her across the penthouse. That's his cue; he runs up to get to the roof and waits there. Either Tony will come up or Natasha will. Clint has a very strong preference there and he really hopes that it won't take long because despite the sun, it's March and it's kind of cool out there.

A few minutes later he hears steps, someone is coming out of the house, and it takes him two seconds to identify them. Tony. Not bad.

'Clint? Birdie?' he asks, shuffling his feet as he walks. Clint slowly turns around, hoping that Tony is still wearing the photo session clothes, and he's not disappointed: Tony looks the same good, the only change is that he got rid of the lipstick. Mostly. There is a small smudge on his collar, but Clint can forgive that.

'That's what you're gonna call me now? That's low, man. Especially for you.'

'It's only fitting,' Tony decides and sits on the small wall next to Clint. It's kind of a thing now, probably, because they have been _accidentally_ meeting in the same spot for weeks. Repeat: accidentally. 'Of course you know how Natasha scolded me like some misbehaving kid,' he adds with a sigh.

Clint nods and looks closer: Tony seems to be tired, now that Clint has the man just next to him: the make-up doesn't cover the circles under his eyes or his slightly ashen skin well enough, his hair is already a mess. The smile looks good on him anyway, though.

'I didn't know,' Tony adds. Clint looks away.

'You weren't supposed to know,' he murmurs, wondering what the hell is a good way out of this situation. He has kind of wanted this for a long time, but now he has no fucking words in his mouth.

'So you knew? That – that I – you know?' Tony stutters, frustrated, running a hand through his hair and ruining it even further.

'I guess,' Clint admits. _Oh_ _heavens_ how he hates the self-conscious feelings, how he hates feelings at all – that is something he and Tony have in common. Not that it's any help when it comes to… relationships. Or affection. Or whatever.

'And you – you didn't do anything? Even in Malibu? I didn't –'

'What was I supposed to do, Tony?' Clint cuts in, turning around to look Tony straight into those damned addicting tired eyes. 'What was I supposed to say? You know my dating history. You even knows my fucking history. You know I _suck_ at this.'

'We both do, don't we?'

'We really do,' Clint agrees and suddenly, Tony takes his hand and starts casually playing with it. His hands are so cold compared to Clint's, even though he's just come from inside the house.

'She is going to kill me with that head-thigh lock if I don't do something,' Tony mumbles, for once _not_ rambling endlessly, but it's so quiet Clint gets the words from his lips rather that his voice.

'I guess,' he agrees.

'So?'

'So?'

'Can I?'

'You are Tony Stark, you can do what you want,' Clint says quickly, his heart starting to beat too fucking fast, his hands _almost_ trembling.

'If you say so,' Tony agrees, leaning over and kissing Clint passionately – his lips as cold as his hands – and he doesn't have to say anything more.

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**A/N: **Thanks for reading & all the favs, follows and comments :) Let me know if you enjoyed this part!


	4. April

**April**

'Let's get away from New York,' Tony states one very early morning. 'Like, a date. Kind of a date, we haven't had a proper date yet, how could that happen? And my hands –'

'Stop right there, Tony, _honey_, the whole world doesn't have to know that we're waiting with sex until after we're married –'

'You wanna marry? Because if you wanna marry, Hawkeye, I could fly us to Vegas, but I don't know if it's even legal, JARVIS, check that –'

'Tony,' Clint cuts in firmly, moving to stand directly in front of Tony. 'I'm sorry to wound your poor shrapneled heart, but we've been _together_ for full three weeks, so forgive me if I feel like I need a bit more time than that to decide whether I can manage with manhandling you for the rest of my life.'

That does shut Tony up and makes him frown a little.

'Also, a trip? You just came back from Japan two days ago. Where you spent two days on business and two days eating sushi and playing video games. You are one lazy ass, aren't you?'

'_Testing_ games – and no, sweetheart, I'm selectively workaholic,' Tony purrs.

Clint grunts a bit, but in the end he can't stifle a chuckle.

'So, you want to go on a date?'

'I guess?' Tony asks, biting his lip the way he does when he's unsure. It's quite cute. He's doing that a lot more around Clint than in other situations and it totally makes Clint happy. 'I mean, obviously, if you want to – I thought we could get away, everyone's hunting for me, I swear, in this city, I think I'll sue them for eye damage if they don't stop with those flashes.'

'Poor baby,' Clint mocks and gives Tony a quick kiss on the forehead, and that's how around noon they end up in one of Tony's cars – it's a crazy sports Audi, limited edition thing, all golden and driving _so _smoothly. It might look a bit like a bright star rolling down the highway, but Clint doesn't share the thought, it's too sappy for him to verbalize it.

This turns out to be Tony's idea for a date: drive three hundred miles one way to get to a small bar that sells the best something – Clint can't remember the exact name – in the whole country, and then drive back.

Though Clint has to agree that the car is more comfortable to be in than most of spaces he can recall being in.

'Why haven't I see this beauty before?' he asks after Tony has driven some fifty miles out of the city.

'I was saving it for special occasion,' Tony explains as if it was the most obvious thing ever. A car, let's not think how much it's worth, stashed away in a basement, waiting for Tony to get a proper date. That's _so _Tony-like. Clint laughs loudly, making Tony looks at him with one eyebrow raised at the same making Clint's heartbeat speed up twice because the car is moving one hundred miles per hour and the driver is not looking at the road.

They don't end up dead, though.

Maybe two minutes later Tony slows down, taking the next turn right, and pulls up a moment late without any explanation.

'Take a piss if you need to, there will be no stop for the next two hours,' Tony tells him and disappears between the wobbly-looking wooden houses they stopped next to.

Clint doesn't need that, so he just gets out of the car to stretch his legs a bit, breathing the salt-scented air; they have been driving south, all the time keeping not too far from the ocean. The area looks rather deserted in the strong sunlight; it's strangely quiet and calm, for a place just off the highway. There isn't much time to look around, though, because Tony comes back a moment later – with a paper bag.

'Got us something,' he says, holding the bag up a bit. 'But now, into the car. We've got places to be.'

_Places to be_ is a sundried piece of earth on a small cliff by the sea; the mysterious bag turns out to contain three deliciously-smelling, juicy and perfect oranges.

'How did you know –' Clint starts, almost moaning with pleasure when the sweet succulent fruit lends on his tongue.

'Natasha,' Tony replies, grinning and chewing at the same time, the word is still unexpectedly strangely graceful and understandable.

'Of course,' Clint agrees. They eat the rest of the fruit in silence and throw the skin into the ocean; maybe it's not an nice thing to do but they don't care much at this point.

In late afternoon they finally arrive to the small roadside bar. Tony is greeted by name and hugged by everyone, as if he was a family member or a frequent visitor, and Clint manages not to feel too jealous. He doesn't manage _not_ to gloat when Tony takes his hand and introduces him to the Croatian family running the place, and then kisses Clint in front of them and boasts that he's got the best marksman of the world for a boyfriend. It's juvenile and tooth-rotting amazing.

The food –_ ćevapčići _with_ blitva _and then_ oblatne _for dessert – is worth the ride. The ten hours spend in a small space with a rambling and insane but lovable genius, Clint's very own, is even more worth the effort.

'You know, it's the best first date ever,' Clint tells Tony when they're finally driving into night-clad New York.

'Out of?'

'Out of twelve, _playboy_, but one involved childhood crush and cotton candy so you had though competition.'

'Nailed it,' Tony laughs, leaning over to give Clint a quick kiss, taking eyes off the road and making the car jerk _again._ 'Don't worry, silly, I've got it,' he laughs at Clint's appalled face.

If not Tony then JARVIS probably _got it_, so Clint trusts them and stops worrying.

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**A/N:** Thanks for all comments, they really make my day! :) I hope you enjoyed this piece.


	5. May

**May**

There's nothing special going on: Tony is scribbling something is his still-kept journal, Natasha and Thor are competing in some video game Clint doesn't recognize, Bruce is sitting on the floor and looks as if he was sleeping, but everyone knows he's meditating. And Steve is sketching with a frown line between his eyebrows.

Clint is pretending to be reading a book, but in fact he's texting with JARVIS: that's the least obvious way to get everything done. In secret. No one expects him to be texting the A.I. that you can just talk with anywhere, anytime.

There's nothing _special_ going on. For once. Therefore, the inevitable happens soon.

'I am booored,' Tony whines as soon as he closes his journal.

'Go to workshop and play with your toys,' Natasha tells him without looking away from the screen.

'I would, but after not leaving it for four days straight working on the new panels for making my suit invisible, what was _totally_ working, by the way, you just don't get it, you made JARVIS lock me out for at least 24 hours and it's ben only 12 so far,' Tony explains as patiently as he can, making annoying sounds with the rubber band.

'Since you had eight hours of sleep like a good boy – J, please, let him in for a few hours. I'll make sure he sleeps and eat later,' Clint asks the A.I., smirking internally, and Tony looks as him with those amazing thankful puppy eyes.

'You're the best,' he tells Clint with conviction, jumps of his armchair and basically runs to the elevator only stopping to give Clint quick kiss on the top of his head. Clint _doesn't_ blush when Steve gives him an amused look.

'Sir has entered the workshop,' JARVIS informs them a minute later. 'He is already engaged in his work.'

Task one: Tony out of picture, but not dying from exhaustion or/and hunger. Check.

Task two: prepare everything Clint's been planning for like two weeks. In progress.

Task three: have a _great_ time. Pending.

Clint leaves the book on the sofa, puts the phone in his jeans' pocket and stands up, stretching until his spine pops pleasantly.

'Just don't be late for the plane, you lazy asses,' he tells the rest of the team and disappears into the other room, skillfully avoiding the paper ball that Natasha threw into his direction with creepy precision.

* * *

Around eleven p.m. Clint goes to the workshop to get Tony. Everything he wanted to do is done and waiting for the big final, so Clint is perfectly relaxed, even if tired. Of course, dragging Tony out of the room is a difficult task, but Clint gained some skills recently.

Just when they enter the bedroom, JARVIS patches through a phone call and Agent Hill's voice fills the bedroom in the exact moment when Tony is taking off his t-shirt.

'Agent Barton, when I call you it's something important and you can't just not answer the call, you were supposed to –'

'And I told you I will, _later, _because now I am celebrating a one month anniversary of my first date,' Clint cuts in and doesn't let her speak, grinning at Tony, 'and if you want to say that a first month anniversary doesn't mean anything, let me tell you _fuck you_ in advance. Thanks. Bye,' Clint finishes and hangs up. 'Sorry. I did tell her.'

'It's _today_?' Tony asks quietly with a note of panic in his voice. He is standing frozen in the middle of the room.

'Yes, it's today, don't worry, I never expected you to remember, just get undressed, take a shower and get into bed. Chop-chop,' he adds, using Tony's trademark saying. Tony listens for once and fifteen minutes later he crawls onto the bed and gives Clinta _goodnight _kiss, as he calls it.

Task two and a half: distract Tony. Check.

* * *

In the morning, as soon as Tony wakes up, Clint hears a loud _Cliiint, where are you?_ coming from the bedroom. Tony likes morning cuddles – not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, Clint has sworn to keep the secret – and he always whines when they don't happen.

Instead of going to the bedroom, Clint _giggles_ with excitement, no one is in the house so no one will know, and soundlessly runs to the workshop.

'Mister Clint is playing hologram basketball in your workshop, sir,' JARVIS says, just like Clint asked him to. 'He asked you to join him.'

About ten minutes later Tony comes to the workshop, still sleepy and wearing some ridiculously mismatched clothes, and freezes in the doorway.

'Happy birthday,' Clint greets him from where he's sitting cross-legged on the main workbench.

'But it's not for another –'

'Two days, I know,' Clint cuts in with a grin. 'But you'll be in Australia and I'll be on an op in Congo because even great and mighty Tony Stark can't make the world stop for his birthday – so, you know, I thought you'd like to celebrate anyway. Guys? Come.'

The bots immediately emerge from their hiding places, Dummy with a bottle of champagne, You holding a platter with a messy but totally cute layer cake Clint spent all afternoon on yesterday, and Butterfingers with plates, spoons and glasses.

'I hope you don't mind this whole _rustic_ _homemade_ style,' Clint says quietly, opening and pouring the champagne. 'By the way, I sent the rest of the team out of the state for the day.'

'You're a fucking angel, Clint… I don't – it's been – I mean, I don't remember… No one has ever _made_ things for me. Like, trying for real. Done with your hands.'

Clint smiles; they drink the champagne, then he cuts the cake.

'I think I might be in love with you,' Tony says when he finishes his piece.

Clint doesn't reply, just moves soundlessly and kisses Tony passionately. His lips taste like chocolate and hazelnut: it means more than words and it's better than perfect.

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**A/N:** Thanks for all your support! I am glad that you are enjoying yourself :) As always, I love all your feedback :)


	6. June

**June**

Truth to be told, Clint hasn't expected the trip to pass without trouble. He's hoped for that, yes, but it really seems like every bad thing has to happen around the Avengers, especially around Tony. He was just supposed to give a guest lecture and Clint tagged along because he sprained his wrist on a op and doctors declared him off duty for two weeks.

That's how they ended up standing outside the building where the lecture was supposed to take place and staring at firemen trying to contain the flames licking the building.

There was a bomb involved, but fortunately nobody was hurt. It went off two hours early, probably a stupid mistake that Clint thanks heavens for.

He knew that Tony – especially since he stopped making weapons and started being Iron Man – has a lot of enemies. This kind of thing happens at least once every few months. A different thing to hear about it, though, and to _live_ through it.

Tony's face is impassive and it's hard even for Clint to guess what he might be thinking.

'Tooony,' he whines for about twentieth time, trying to get Tony's attention.

'You're going to be the death of me,' his boyfriend finally says and it's a full-blown whine. Clint smirks slightly at that.

'That is _so_ last year, baby – and besides, if anything, _you_ are going to be the death of _us_. Who knows if not literally,' he looks at the scene if front of them pointedly.

'I detest that comment,' Tony murmurs into Clint's shoulder. 'You were an assassin long before you even met me. And despite all the evidence on the contrary, you _are_ a homo sapiens. You knew what being with me means.'

'This isn't the first thing that comes to your mind when you start dating someone,' Clint reminds Tony, ruffling his hair. It's a mess anyway, so for once Tony doesn't protest.

'Well, you're dating _me_, so that's a pretty obvious thing to consider,' Tony counters, still with his head resting on Clint's shoulders, his hands sneakily wrapping around Clint's waist. 'I'm sorry,' he adds.

'What the hell for?'

'For being a target,' Tony explains, making Clint feel anger raising in his gut.

'It's not your fucking fault,' he protests, turning around inside Tony's embrace. 'Don't you dare to believe that it is.'

Tony doesn't reply, but Clint can read _But. It. Is._ flashing through Tony's mind and it makes him really want to punch whoever said that all the attacks that he's a _victim_ of are his fault. Maybe they would have been – if he was _still_ producing weapons or ignoring the wrongs that are _still_ being committed using them, but Tony has been doing everything that's possible to stop anything bad from happening, he's been working so fucking hard to make up for the past.

'Stay here,' Clint says in the end. 'I'll get us something to drink. I know you won't be persuaded to leave until everything is finished and safe.'

Tony nods numbly, but as soon as Clint gets out of his embrace, he seems to realize what was just said.

'Drink? But they closed every place in the proximity and evacuated people –'

'I know what to do,' Clint assures him with a smile. 'Just don't go away anywhere, okay?'

Tony nods in agreement and turns his head towards the still-burning building. Clint knows that he's not in shock or anything like that; he's lived though worse shit. Several times. He's just pensive and pensive Tony means mellow Tony and that means he needs someone behind to be here with him silently. Clint is willing to be just that, even if he himself would prefer to go back to the hotel, or even to New York and go home, instead of taking care of the management of the destruction.

But Tony is that guy who won't let it go.

There are vending machines in the nearby building's hall; it's been evacuated, but there are policemen and security guards out in the streets and they let Clint in the building. For once it is a good thing to be someone recognized as an Avenger.

Clint gets each of them a double espresso – he doesn't trust those machines enough to choose some more complicated beverage – and a handful of sweet snacks.

When he is back, he finds Tony sitting on a low wall that goes around the square behind them. He hands then the coffee and presses a Milky Way into Tony's hand, putting the Butterfinger, two Sky Bars, and a couple of Cherry Mashes on the marble next to where he sits.

'You know, I am ten years older than you. I shouldn't be eating those thing is you want me to stay in shape,' Tony comments, staring at the candy in his hand as if it was going to eat _him_.

'You really are dumb if you think I worry about anything like that, _especially_ at the moment,' Clint scolds him. Sometimes he doesn't get the way Tony's brain works. Okay, more than sometimes, but usually it's about work and not Tony personally. 'You need energy. Therefore, carbohydrates will have to do for now. And I have an emergency pack of dried blueberries. _Eat_.'

Tony eats and Clint does, too. The firemen finally manage to put out the fire half an hour later and start to clean up; soon some more policemen arrive to investigate and collect the evidence.

'Clint, can I ask you for a favor?' Tony asks, eying everyone who's working on the scene. Clint listens to the request, nods and runs off.

They spend the next six hours without leaving the area, Tony and JARVIS helping as much as they can and Clint feeding everyone candy. Tony, of course, told him to buy all that there was in the vending machines, knowing that these people won't get a break for a long time.

Clint decides that he really has the best boy in the world.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for all your comments! This is my first 'lighter' story so I am very very happy to read every single of your sweet comments :)


	7. July

**July**

'Remind me again, why are we here, exactly?'

'Because after the bomb shit and the next two messy missions we were ordered to have a holiday away from everything. That's why Bruce and Thor are in Australia, scuba-diving of all things, and Natasha took Steve to Russia to _fight the stereotypes,_ and we can expect he'll cook Russian breakfast food for the next month at least.'

'And _we_ are _here_.'

'Well, duh.'

'In Europe.'

'Yes.'

'In _Croatia_.'

'Yes?'

'On some island.'

'Obviously.'

'Staying not even in a small touristic town, just in the middle of nowhere.'

'Exactly,' Tony beams. 'That's what we have this car for, though.'

Clint rolls his eyes and looks around. They pulled up by the road to take a piss and now Clint is thoroughly unimpressed. The place looks like a fucking desert with some green succulents peeking from between yellowish rocks. Sure, there's a pretty view of mountains descending into the sea on their right and the Adriatic on their left, but they're on the island itself and not somewhere else. And it looks… dead. And dry.

'I really wouldn't have expected you to have a property in such place,' Clint says when they enter the car again.

'I told you already that it's not my house. It's Pepper's, even if I come here more often than my workaholic platonic girlfriend. And shut up. You'll love it.'

'It's nothing but dry hills here,' Clint whines. Maybe he's a bit tired and annoyed with the travel, the closest airport the StarkJet could land on is Zadar and that's two hours away from where they're supposed to arrive. 'Couldn't we go to Italy? Like normal people do?'

'First, I never do what normal people do and you know it,' Tony explains patiently. That's suspicious. He should be annoyed by now. 'Second, Italy is too crowded in July because everyone goes there. We are smarter than that. And you will love it here, birdbrain.'

* * *

It's maybe fifteen minutes before they finally drive out of the desert-like area and reach a piece of land with pine trees. Clint opens the window and lets the _hot_ air scented like pine resin fill the car and he really has to admit that it's completely divine. There are no cicadas, but surely they will appear out of nowhere in the evening and give an incredible – and probably annoying – concert.

There are some houses here and there, supposedly called villages but that seems to be such a big word for a group of twenty edifices, a mini-market and a roadside bar, always with something that looks like a lamb-on-a-spit-hut.

It's not long before they drive into something that looks like a proper town and Tony happily announces that they need to stop and get some food; the house is apparently not stocked.

Tony chooses to go to a _supermarket_ of all places, what probably means there are no upper-class shops in the area. Well. At least they are both a bit disguised, wearing baseball caps and sunglasses.

Clint has been to the Balkans a few times before for missions, but never to Croatia, so he leaves the shopping to Tony. There's a variety of foods that lands in their cart, from local cold cuts of names that Clint has no idea how to pronounce, snacks, juice – _remember, Pago is the best one you can get, especially the peach one _– and some curiously looking sweets. Including original Mediterranean fig rolls and puffed rice chocolate that seems to be a thing, given how many brands there are.

'Bread? Fruit? Something?' Clint asks when they waiting in the checkout line.

'In the bakery. On the market. Wine and cheese straight from producers, I have some connections.'

Of course Tony does. He has _connections_ everywhere. But at least that means the best quality cheese and wine – and that Clint can appreciate. They turn out to have names that are impossible to pronounce for Clint while Tony is doing a really good job at talking half-English, half-Croatian. He teaches Clint good afternoon – _dobar dan, _thank you – _hvala_ and bye – _pozdrav _ and a few useful phrases that don't have those strange Slavic sounds.

* * *

Finally, they have to leave the car about a hundred meters away from the house as there is no further way, just a footpath. Clint's legs are all scratched by the dry plants; Tony's also, but he doesn't seem to mind. They meet a stray sheep, too, colored like the soil.

The place, as Tony promised, of course turns out to be a fucking dream. There are olives, a few hundred years old, and a patch of pine trees somewhere behind them. In between, there is a medium-sized house, an old one but really nicely renovated. It's all made of white stone, hot and so pleasant to touch, and there's a giant terrace overseeing the shore and a paved path leading straight to the pebbly beach. The soil is yellow-red and everything seems to be painted by it that near the ground, even trees' trunks.

It's so warm and quiet and calming and charming. Better than in a dream.

They really, really need exactly _this._

'Can – can we make love here?' Clint asks after they have eaten – the food is really excellent – eying Tony unsurely. Believe it or not, they've been waiting for a proper moment.

'You know how to choose the perfect time and place,' Tony replies with a smile and drags Clint to the bedroom.

'I don't want to ever go away from here,' Clint whispers into Tony' ear after, when they're laying naked on the bed, the setting sun smothering their bodies with its warm orange rays.

'You'd change your mind in winter when Bora blows, making everything freezing and covered with salt,' Tony snickers, playing with Clint's hair. 'But I know what you mean,' he adds and gives Clint a kiss.

Definitely better than all memories Italy, Clint keeps thinking as he falls asleep, cuddled up to Tony. He will love Croatia forever.

* * *

**A/N:** Anyone else loves Croatia more than Italy or Spain or anywhere else? :p I visited that exact place about ten times and it's been two years and I miss it more than anything. I do like Italy, but Croatia is a special thing for me.

Thanks for all the comments! Let me know if you liked this :)


	8. August

**August**

'This is becoming a thing and I don't like it at all,' Tony says, staring at Clint sitting on the sofa

Clint knows exactly why Tony is looking at him like _that_, with cocked head, brows furrowed, biting his lip. Clint _does_ look funny at the moment.

It went like this: Avengers were called in the previous day, a messy situation, and everyone ended up pretty beat up in one way or another. Clint fell more times than he cares to remember and while he was caught by Hulk or Iron Man most of the time, he had less than unpleasant contact with the concrete floor. A few times. Which left him with some pretty nasty scrapes and grazes. Plus, the fight taking place in the middle of nowhere, _really_, literally, and a set of other unfortunate circumstances, Clint's wounds were treated on field with the only disinfectant on hand: iodine.

And now he's all covered with violet spots, in addition to purple bruises. And a headache.

'What's becoming a thing?' Clint asks tiredly, not bothering to get up. It's been a pretty rough couple of months and even with the time away in Europe, he feels bone-deep exhausted a bit too much.

'Us not being able to celebrate birthdays,' Tony replies easily. Clint shakes his head.

'Tony, please, don't – I think we talked about that, didn't we?'

'Well, yes, but it was –'

'I told you. I. Do. Not. Celebrate. My. Birthday,' Clint drawls, looking away. He knows that it's because Tony cares, but he'd really prefer not to.

'It's just a special day –' Tony tries one more, but Clint is too impatient for that.

'Please, don't insist, Tony. Not a good day. No good memories. I don't give a fuck about this. I'm glad the date passed already. Thought I wouldn't have to explain myself,' Clint finishes tiredly, singing into to the sofa, slumping to half-laying position.

Tony stops, makes this face he always has when he encounters an issue he doesn't exactly know how to approach, and stays like that for a few long minutes. It's a comfortable silence, but that doesn't mean Clint likes it. He wishes he wasn't messes up like this but he is and he can't fix himself, not even for Tony.

'Well, pick a date then,' Tony finally states, his eyes glowing. That means he's excited.

'Pick a what date?'

'For a party.'

'Tooony, you have to make more sense than that, I can't read you mind,' Clint whines.

'For your special-day party? If you don't want birthday, we will create you a new reason to celebrate. Hawkeye's special day. I am sure everyone will love that. You've got to pick a date, that's all. You know, like Paddington Bear? He didn't know his birthday date so he picked it and started with zero. We could even have your twice a year, too, you know I always welcome a nice reason to have a party –'

'Tony,' Clint cuts in, letting the amusement show in his voice. 'I'm not an English Queen. And I'm fine with no birthdays.'

'Then you've got a problem because I am not fine,' Tony informs him, finally moving from his spot where he stood, statue-like, and sits next to Clint on the sofa. 'Well?'

'September 22nd,' Clint says on a whim, just to shut Tony up.

'Last day of summer. Excellent idea. We could –'

'Tony,' Clint interrupts again, this time with more seriousness in his voice. 'You're doing that again. Distracting me. Being Nervous. What is it?'

'Nothing,' Tony says a bit too quickly; he realizes that himself, so he offers Clint a lopsided smile and a kiss. It only makes Clint more suspicious.

'You're trying to hide something. Or placate me before you tell me .'

When Tony doesn't reply, Clint know it _is_ the case. He waits. Tony says nothing. He waits some more, raising an eyebrow, but Tony still says nothing

'Tell me what it's about, baby,' Clint whispers into his ear as he moves closer and rests his head on Tony's shoulder. 'Whatever it is, it's okay. You know that, right?'

'Pepperaskedmetohavesexwithher,' Tony spits out on one breath and he cringes next to Clint.

'Pepper asked you to – _what?_' Clint asks, stunned, sitting up a bit to look at Tony's face. Tony's eyes are closed and he's breathing a bit too fast.

'Have sex. With her,' Tony repeats slowly.

'But you never had sex before –'

'When everyone thought we were together? _Hell_ _no_.'

'Then –'

'She and Maria want a child,' Tony states and Clint _gapes_. 'That's what she told me and I had my mouth hanging open for undignified amount of time. And Pepper said she wants to be one to bear it but she can't have in vitro, long story, so we would have to… try… you know. She said she wanted it to be my child, biologically…'

Then Clint can't stop himself. He _laughs_. Tony stares at him with a completely blank and unsure look.

Because that's not a difficult decision.

'I thought you were going to say you were sick or break up with me or inform me that you have an affair –'

'It's almost like an affair,' Tony murmurs, looking away. He really believes that and it hurts Clint so fucking much. Tony _should_ know better, only that he's too insecure to trust himself.

'Very big no here, Tony,' Clint assures him, making his voice as warm as he can manage without sounding patronizing or fake. 'I wouldn't mind that. _I trust you_. Completely. I can tell you'd like that, and – wouldn't that make me some kind of wicked stepfather? Or one-quarter of a parent?'

'I guess?' Tony offers weakly, giving Clint an uncertain look.

'Agree. As long as _you_ feel comfortable with that –'

'I do.'

'Then do it. You'll make the four of us the happiest beings on the planet.'

'Really?' Tony asks, eyes wide. Clint nods firmly.

'_Really_.'

That's going to be a mess, such a beautiful mess.

* * *

**A/N:** Crazy things happening and I'm not entirely sure how and why, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway :) Thanks for all the comments, I am always so so happy to read them!


	9. September

**September**

Clint is currently very thankful to the person who gave him a smartphone he can use to write emails – since he _hates_ texting – that has perfect network coverage in every single place on the planet, including in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska.

That person, of course, it Tony. Clint doesn't mind being indebted to him.

The train is calm, almost everyone is sleeping. Clint's mission is done – _neutralize_ a man aboard the train to Chicago, done, two assisting agents are taking care of the man, so he can rest. He's pretty exhausted; the last three days were chasing a group of drug dealers and staying hidden. Stealth is okay, but it wears a man out easily.

Clint gets his thermos out of his bag, pours himself a cup of tea, and sits cross-legged. Almost comfortable. He has a bedroom suite to himself, that's nice, and the repeatability of the noises and semi-darkness are soothing.

_Mission accomplished_, he types quickly on the mini-keyboard. Tony, of course, complains that no one likes touchscreens like he does. _Some shouting, a few scared people and a man who dropped his drink and made half of the floor in one compartment sticky with Fanta. Still don't know why Fury wanted me, it's not like my _uniqueskills_ were necessary here. Most of it was sitting perched on the roofs of building and getting cold – okay. I guess that one of my specialties. Bar-car has a neater veggie burgers than expected. Overall: not too bad._

He sends the message and puts headphones on. The steady rocking of the train and the music won't lull him to sleep, he knows, but it's pleasant. It's funny, when you are a secret agent –and especially when you live with Tony Stark – a jet is the most obvious means of transport choice. It's been years since Clint took a real train because no, New York subway doesn't count.

Soon, the phone lights up for a second, announcing a message.

_You're the only one to who can sit perched like that for hours, sweetcakes. I bet it does good to your leg muscles. And butt. How refreshing not to have you smacking me for that. & you know you get called in 'cause you're the most observant bastard in the country – of course you are, that's why you picked me out from the crowd if it was just sitting stuck to rooftops they would manhandle Spider Man into it._

Clint snickers. They're yet to see Spider Man being forced to do something, especially as boring as stealth op. Even Captain America wouldn't be enough to make him sit still for three days.

There's Bruce Springsteen pouring into Clint's head, not too bad. JARVIS is the best, he always knows exactly what Clint in in the mood for.

_What are you doing up so late anyway? I thought we had an agreement._

That's true. Clint has somehow been – mostly – managing to make Tony get the humanly required amount of sleep. Food isn't that bad, as long as there's someone around to eat with Tony he stops living off the high calorie shakes. But sleeping… Well. Clint tries not to whine too much, but _not_ worrying about Tony is impossible. He's such a cute lost puppy.

_Says the man who emails me in the middle of the night… You could just text me, anyway. I really like you sending me that text bubble whales._

Oh not that again, Clint sighs, moving around to stretch his legs, and types back.

_I would if you didn't decide that texting doesn't require any kind of grammar or spelling or anything that isn't an incomprehensible code of yours, for god-knows-what reason. It's annoying. _

_You know my other superpower_, Tony replies instantly. And then, _Miss you_.

Clint has been gone for over a week, briefing and recon before the actual mission. Even if he spent a lot of his time with the phone on speaker, talking through workout and meals and whatever he was doing, Tony's voice is far from corporeal Tony. Very far.

_If you really miss me, make me pancakes when I come back. You can ever toss blueberries in them if it helps your conscience screaming that people should cook for you and not the other way round._

Tony pouts and doesn't write back.

Three more hours before the train arrives in Chicago – deliver the captured man to the local S.H.I.E.L.D. base – debrief – and finally they can go back to New York. In a jet, of course.

Clint misses his bed and Tony by his side.

Loving someone is so demanding. Not that Clint would use the exact wording to complain to Tony. It's – he's not – maybe in a few weeks. Not _yet_. He can't fuck things up.

_Miss you too. And holographic basketball, JARVIS, you hear me? We'll have a game when I'm back_, he sends the message and imagines Tony's scowling face.

_The hell you are. I'm not giving you to anyone for at least twenty-four consecutive hours. Not even to J._

There. Clint smirks. Exactly what he wanted to hear.

The rest of the night is quiet. Clint only hopes that Tony is finally getting some rest because sleep-deprived boyfriends isn't as good as refreshed and vivacious one.

When he steps out of the train, the two agents with the man between them, he notices an unexpected person chatting with the Chicago agents.

'Italian beef will have to do for now. I don't have a portable stove,' Tony says, coming up to Clint and presenting the paper bag in his hand with a grin.

'Not an acceptable excuse from you, Mister Inventor,' Clint replies without missing a beat. This is _the best_ kind of surprise.

'I've got a bag of dried blueberries if you want some?' Tony teases, making an innocent face. He knows perfectly well that he's the only one with an undying love for the fruit.

Clint leans a bit and gives Tony a quick kiss.

Italian beef will do.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for your support! I hope you enjoyed this part :)


	10. October

**October**

'Why do I feel that 90% of our relationship is indulging and getting away from the whole world?'

'Maybe because it is?'

'You are not helping here,' Clint sighs. He feels like he _always_ sighs.

'You know what I mean,' Tony replies, putting on his coat. Clint still can't understand why can't he just wear a down jacket like all sensible people do; Tony said his stylist picked the elegant coat for him, pure wool, and that he likes it. 'In New York, you are at work, I am at work. Or we are avenging one thing or another. Unless we get the hell out of that city, we can't get five hours without anyone barging in. I want more.'

'Always knew it's all because you're so selfish,' Clint teases and steps into the elevator.

'Coffee?' Tony hands a cup to Clint.

'If you insist, _mister_,' Clint rolls his eyes and takes a sip and – _fuck_, it's heaven. The flavor's so rich and bitter, mixed with sweet caramel, vanilla and a hint of chocolate and it's perfect.

'Like it? Lenna made it. Great thing, isn't it?' Tony says, seeing Clint's surprised and blissful expression.

'Lenna?'

'Yes, my new barista, didn't I mention her?' Tony explains casually.

'Barista,' Clint replies, staring at the cup. 'Tony. I haven't said anything about your stylist and hairdresser and masseur, not to mention interior decorator and _three_ personal assistants that you insist you need to substitute for Pepper, a gardener for a 6000 square feet zen garden and the five plants that you have in the penthouse, a tailor, a makeup artist, hell, I haven't even really complained about Tom whose job is to pack your bags – and mine too, now – and drive around with Happy and keep him company when he has to wait for you for hours. But. You have the best coffee machine available, custom made, and you have a robot you made _yourself_ to make you coffee. And – you hired a barista.'

'I'll employ Bean in the workshop,' Tony says impatiently. It probably should be obvious to Clint, he just refuses to believe that this really is his life now, even if he does call the robot by its name. 'You know, I need a constant coffee stream there and getting it from the kitchen makes it a bit too cold…'

'_Tony,_' Clint breathes when they finally step out of the elevator. Tom is waiting with their luggage by the car. Happy is typing on his Starkphone.

'Thanks Tommy-boy, put the luggage where it belongs and run up to have your time off, I am sure you did great, if you forgot my favorite scarf I swear I'll make you knit me one, see ya in some time,' Tony says under one breath, making it a stream of words probably incomprehensible for everyone who hasn't had months of practice. Luckily everyone present in the garage is used to it by now.

'I'd be a damn fool if I forgot to pack it, boss,' Tom shouts from across the room, running up the stairs already, as if literally completing Tony's ridiculous task was the point of his life.

'Good,' Tony murmurs to himself and gets into the Bentley. 'Boys, come on, in the car, chop-chop, we don't have all year –'

'And I thought we were going to have some calm time for ourselves and rest, instead of hurrying up for some ridiculous reason again –'

'We are,' Tony interrupts Clint, taking the coat off and tossing it behind. It's pleasant in the car and they are heading south, so it'll be warmer in Georgia.

* * *

'Why do you even have a cabin in the woods?' Clint asks about two hours into the ride. So far it's been a pleasant mix of old rock music and wasabi peanuts and they are already relaxing.

'It's required from upper-middle class Americans up. You've got to have one to get into the club – that, or a little house on Florida. Or in the mountains. An argument could be made for lakeside, too. But I chose the most awesome option.'

'Of course,' Clint sighs and stuffs a handful of peanuts into his mouth. The woods don't actually doesn't sound _that_ exciting.

* * *

'As for your question, Twinkie, about all of my personal employees – I don't know how I never explained it to you or Pepper or even Happy – maybe exactly because you _didn't_ ask why and how,' Tony says when they get out of the car, finally arriving at the destination, and leads Clint into the forest. 'Well. I'm mostly having them because I can and because unemployment rates in this country are too high, you know, creating as many workplaces as possible… They are smart kids who couldn't find job. Like, Tom spent two years in prison long ago and no one wants him. And Lenna just got fired for throwing a man out of a café where she worked for being handsy with a teenage girl because apparently it wasn't her call to make, and she's in wheelchair so you know, problems everywhere, and you've got to admit, she makes the meanest coffee ever – but we can talk about my employment policy later,' Tony stops Clint before he can say anything. 'Because I have a personal carpenter, too. And an architect. And I've got lots of employees with children so I kinda hired them, too – don't make that face, they got paid by having fun time in summer for free – just look.'

Clint turns around and looks. Then gapes and blinks a few times. It is… not really a cabin.

It's a freaking mini tree house town.

'Told you, the kids went pretty wild when I told them they could do whatever they want as long as it won't be painting Teletubbies or some other hellish creatures on the walls – wait, where the hell are you?' he shouts and Clint laughs at him from a platform twelve feet up.

This is going to be _fun_.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed Tony making all of our childhood dreams come true ;p


	11. November

**November**

'You should stop meeting with Pep or I might start to get jealous,' Tony murmurs around the spoonful of cereal he's just put into his mouth. It's two p.m. and Clint is back from lunch with Pepper.

'If you want to eat pizza for Thanksgiving, I guess I could hover over you as you finish that thingy for R&D – or have you finished? Because it's been taking you so much time –'

'Mean!' Tony cuts in, pointing his spoon at Clint. 'It's not a _thingy_, it's a brilliant filtration system that'll revolutionize space travel –'

'I wasn't aware there still was much space travel going on –'

'Just shut up,' Tony scowls and Clint congratulated himself. Tony's been too focused on his work for the past few days to respond at anyone's jabs or laugh at the bad jokes. This is much better. 'Don't glee, I know you're doing this on purpose, yes, I finished that work what means now I can concentrate on flight control in vacuum and you're not gonna like that one either and I don't care.'

Clint sighs and finishes making quick sandwiches for himself and Tony. Cereal is _not_ a proper breakfast in Clint's book, not to mention a proper brunch or lunch or whatever that meal should be called if you are Tony Stark.

'Is it Thanksgiving soon?' Tony asks when he's half done with the sandwich, as if it took him five minutes to register Clint's words.

'It's in ten days. So we make plans. Because it actually requires a plan to prepare a dinner for all of us and all of our _sweethearts_. We make quite a crowd that could eat anyone but Tony Stark into bankruptcy.'

'Thank heaven I am me,' Tony declared and eats the remaining sandwich in two bites. 'So, you're like making a list of who does what? Because I understand calling my chefs wouldn't require a self-imposed secret operation.'

'Every couple brings something. Don't worry, I've got us covered –'

'No,' Tony interrupts. 'No, no, no, you can't do all the work, it's America, we have equal rights and equal duties and stuff like that, I am sure you could win a court case if I was a neglectful partner, I'll make something. I'll make pie, a special magical pie that I will not tell you anything more about. We good?'

'A pie?' Clint repeats unsurely. 'How do you know how to make a pie? I mean, I know you never cook for yourself. How come no one has uncovered this secret yet?'

'Thanksgiving's a holiday for families,' Tony replies, looking down. Clint knows that Tony will share whatever is going on in his head, it's a progress compared to a few months ago when he would keep silent and just toss fake smiles around. 'Everyone always spends it with family. So. There has never been anyone around to see.'

'Oh fuck them all,' Clint declares, getting up and ruffling Tony's hair. Then he takes the two plates and puts them into the dishwasher despite Tony's stare saying _I have robots to do that for me_. 'Really mean pie?'

'Really mean pie,' Tony confirms. 'It's just science – and well, I've got sophisticated needs unless it's burgers and fries, so I perfected the recipe after a few dozen tries. Legitimate research, don't look at me like that, I had someone take the thirty four attempts and donate them to _someplace_, they were perfectly edible juts not good enough to satisfy me. You know how I roll.'

'Sure I do,' Clint replies walking towards the exit.

Tony looks at his with those big needy eyes.

'Stay with me?' he asks innocently. Clint knows him too well to just agree.

'Don't be ridiculous,' he replies and Tony looks hurt for a moment. 'If you're going to be jealous of _Pepper_ of all people, when you know I'm not into women and when she has you four week old baby inside her, I might reconsider thinking about you as a rational person.'

It's just _sad_ to see that Tony would expect something like that from two of the people closest to him; Clint knows that it's not fear or anger or jealousy. Tony just expects it, even after all these months.

'And she's you ex,' Clint adds because honestly, hitting your partner's ex is one of the most awful things you can do.

'We've never really been together,' Tony says quietly and Clint blinks in confusion. 'Sorry I didn't tell you earlier but I thought you knew – friends with benefits raised to a completely new level, also, good tactics, whenever we had a press conference or an interview everyone kept asking about our relationship and we could tell them all the made up stories instead of answering mean questions and then having to deal with PR and stock issues. That's 21st century marketing.'

'You sweet bastard,' Clint drawls, cocking his head and staring at Tony's figure crouched on the chair. 'I'll spend all the time with you if you stop thinking ridiculous things. I am _not_ going to cheat on you like that and if anything happens, you'll be the first to know. No fucking lies. Got it?'

'Yeah, got it,' Tony replies easily. Clint is not so sure but he lets it go. 'We can cuddle by the fireplace? It's cold. Even in here,' he adds, shrugging a bit.

'I can't believe you actually said _cuddle_ when I've been trying to make you do that for months,' Clint laughs, but then goes back to seriousness, 'You're not making sacrifices for me, you dumb brat. No fireplaces. You don't want that. I'll go down to the shop with you, play holo-basketball and annoy you with questions. You'll work. JARVIS will make the place tropic-like hot and Dummy will make us rum cocktails.'

'Make it rum and coconut and I am set,' Tony replies with this wide radiant grin, jumps out of his chair, takes Clint's hand and leads him to the elevator.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who gives me feedback and support, you are amazing! :)


	12. December

**December**

It is two days to Christmas, presents are ready and cookies waiting to be eaten, and Clint can already feel the anxiety and the tightness in his chest and every time he thinks about _it_, he so damn feels scared. Honestly, it feels pretty ridiculous, but even though he's not too good at the relationship stuff, he knows that this is more or less a normal reaction.

Maybe it's too soon, he wonders, it's only been a year and a half since he's really met Tony, it's been only nine months of _dating_ – but then neither he nor Tony are patient people.

They are both very decided people.

* * *

Steve corners him the next morning when Clint is going back from the range to his room to take a shower before showing himself to the world.

'I've got something for you,' he informs Clint and presents him a big blank envelope. 'It's a drawing, well, I know you hate posing, so I took advantage of you both being unaware one time and…' Steve explains, looking at his feet as if he was unsure. He does that a lot and Clint knows now that some of that is Cap playing with them. He's so genuine and innocent-looking all the time though that it's hard to say when he's just trolling everyone.

Clint opens the envelope and takes out the thick paper that's inside: it's a watercolor painting of him and Tony sitting on the big sofa and staring at Starkpad in Tony's hands. Clint remembers that day, it was early autumn and the team has just spend two days on Indian summer randez-vous with doombots. As soon as they cleaned up, Tony wanted to show Clint the newest specs for Helicarrier upgrade and everyone else was just hanging out.

('An agent would know fellow agents best,' Tony said, making Clint snicker despite how truthful that is. Clint did have several suggestions.)

'Consider it an early Christmas gift,' Steve adds, smiling. 'And don't be so anxious about your plans. Tony's gonna love it,' he adds, winking, and disappears as if he was learning stealth from Natasha – come to think of it, he probably was.

Within six hours he's had all of the Avengers – but one – come to him and drop some half-knowing words and honestly, it's making Clint a bit annoyed and jumpy. And more anxious. That's not good.

He is _possibly_ overreacting.

'How does everyone know what I'm planning?' he asks Natasha when she comes over in the evening. 'I didn't even tell _you._'

'I think it would be sad if you didn't go for predictable here,' she states philosophically, handing him a bowl of fruit with whipped cream. Trust Natasha to know his comfort food.

'I don't know if I should be happy or terrified by the fact that you're predicting havinging _emotions_ about me,' Clint deadpans, digging into the dessert.

'You are dumb,' she replies easily, tossing a paper ball at his head.

'You are planning something,' Clint counters, squinting his eyes and taking in every tense and relaxed line in Natasha's body. He's been learning to read her for years, but she still can be a blank page when she tries.

'I am always planning something,' she replies, rolling her eyes. _Obviously_, the tone of her voice says. Clint nods in acknowledgement.

* * *

Clint decides that he can't do it in front of everyone. There are plans to exchange the gifts together in the morning, since there is a huge stack of presents already waiting under and around the Christmas tree, but Clint knows he just _couldn't_. He isn't an open person and even if it might seem to be a bit too introverted to hide away from his bunch of best friends – well. He knows he won't be able to act with so many spectators around.

Therefore he doesn't go to sleep – come on, he's never even planned to, planning that would mean that he's been replaced by an alien – and sneaks into Tony's workshop around four. He doesn't even check Tony's bedroom; Tony never sleeps there unless Clint is with him.

He taps the security code with one hand, not losing neither speed nor fluency, and the doors slide soundlessly.

'Steve, I'm not hun–' Tony starts, turning around as soon as he hears steps, but stops in mid-sentence when he sees Clint.

'Well, you should be,' Clint teases; it's easy. It's what he always does. 'Since you ate your last half sandwich seven hours ago…'

'J, you traitor – Clint, seriously –'

'Okay. Food aside for now, gotcha,' Clint cuts in, taking a few tentative steps inside. 'I've got something for you,' he adds and carefully presents Tony the small box with a chocolate-chip packed cookie on the top. 'It's a… trick one.'

'Cookie?' Tony asks, already stuffing it into his mouth with contempt. 'No, not a trick cookie,' he states, seeing Clint's face. Clint feels pale and clammy and breathless.

'I just thought you'd maybe –' he starts, but the words are stuck in his throat. 'I know that's not know you…. _normally_ do this –'

'Nothing is normal here,' Tony states when he swallows the remains of the cookie.

Clint breathes.

Tony stops torturing him and carefully opens the box.

Clint forgets to breathe.

'Is this?...' Tony asks, transfixed, eyes locked on the little thing.

'I guess?' Clint replies with a question, taking a small step back. Tony just stares at the box's interior so intently. '_Tony_?'

Then Tony laughs and Clint freezes.

'Because you know,' Tony starts to explain, taking something out of his pocket quickly, 'I've got one too,' he adds, pressing something into Clint's hand. 'So I guess none of us needs to ask?'

'I guess not,' Clint says, looking down and breaking into a smile,. Simple platinum – he chose, the same, of course.

He silently slips the ring onto his finger. Tony does the same.

'I guess not,' Clint repeats and hugs Tony and thinks that he's never going to let go of him.

Never.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks everyone for reading and commenting and all the kudos, it was an amazing experience! I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did. Please let me know what you think overall? :)

(I'm planning to write a story about Pepper's Summer House 'cause I have so many feels about it, if you're interested check my profile out if a few days!)


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